


Flora

by Insomnia_Productions



Series: The Rat Revolution (Mat/Rand Drabbles) [4]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Book 03: The Dragon Reborn, Flower meanings, Hopeful Ending, I'll stop tagging now, M/M, Memories, Reminiscing, and puts a flower in his hair, based on the scene when Mat breaks into the Caemlyn palace, bc i felt obligated to write about it, but made-up meanings bc idk what a star blaze even is, even if your childhood crush turns out to be the Dragon Reborn, flowers can solve all problems, introspective, just add flowers :), like I googled them but all I found was MLP porn so uhhh, thanks for that RJ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 01:22:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20055727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomnia_Productions/pseuds/Insomnia_Productions
Summary: His mother gave him an odd look. “Pretty flower. Did a girl give that to you?”Mat touched the starblaze and smiled. “No, just Rand.”Her eyebrows went up. She exchanged an amused look with his father.“What?” Mat demanded. “What’s that about?”But his parents only laughed.“Ask again in a few years,” his father said, ruffling his hair, careful not to dislodge the bloom. “Maybe, by then, you’ll already know.”





	Flora

The floors of the hall are white marble, set with gold in the shape of leaves and lions. The pillars are similarly adorned, as are the walls, the arches, the ceiling. All of it glitters in the midday sun. Mat almost regrets the dirt dropping from his boots, the smudges left by his fingertips as he steals between pillars. Somehow, though, he can’t seem to summon nearly as much regret for this palace as he felt the last time he tracked mud into Bran al'Vere’s common room. The thought almost makes him laugh: who would have thought that one year could be the difference between sneaking around the local inn and breaking into a palace? 

The sound of approaching footsteps halts his musings. Pulling back into the shadows, Mat quickly rounds a corner and darts through an archway, back into the garden, just as two guards stroll by. He crouches behind a stout birdbath as they pass, excruciatingly slowly, down the hall. One is speaking animatedly about a falling-out with his sister; the other hums along noncommittally. As their voices finally begin to drift away, Mat straightens and glances down at his reflection in the still water. One hand lifts on its own; his fingers brush the scarlet bloom tucked behind his ear. The starblaze from the garden. He considers it for a moment, and, suddenly, the face in the water seems to shift. It becomes softer, younger. There is still a red flower in his hair, but it is withering at the edges, its petals slightly torn—a wildflower, not of any queen’s royal backyard. Gazing down at himself, at this younger version of himself, he thinks he knows just why he picked this flower. 

_ Light, no, _ Mat thinks desperately. A guard could appear at any moment, yet he cannot lift his eyes from the water. _ Not this. Not him. Not now. _

It’s a fruitless thought. The memory returns, unbidden. 

-

The second week of spring, some six or seven years ago. It was reaching midday and the flowers in the forest had all bloomed. There were hundreds of them. That winter had been particularly long, and then, seemingly overnight, the snow had melted away and the woods had been flooded with a sea of vibrant reds, yellows, pinks, and blues. Mat and Rand stood side by side, looking at them. Perrin should have been here by now, but he was often late to their little gatherings; with every passing year, he grew more attached to his apprenticeship with Master Lunhan. Mat was beginning to think that, by the time they were old enough to wed, Perrin would be ready to settle down with a pretty hammer and anvil. His thoughts drifted away from Perrin and towards Rand; his friend had moved. He was crouching close to the ground, cradling a yellow flower in one hand. 

Softly, Rand said, “I remember… when I was very young, my mother used to pick flowers for the kitchen, and she would tell me what they all meant.” He stood, and the flower swayed as his hand left it. “I don’t remember much, but I think that one means jealousy.” 

“Does it?” Mat murmured, only half-listening. He had noticed a damp patch near a fallen log and was wondering whether he might find a mushroom colony there. That was always exciting, no matter how old you got. 

Rand continued, moving between the trees, pointing out the different flowers. “That one means hope, and that one is pride.” As he spoke, Mat wandered over to the log and knelt beside it. He couldn’t see any mushrooms, but, surely, he just needed to look a little closer. 

“You’d like this one, Mat. It means freedom and lightheartedness. And this one…” 

Mat felt cool fingers in his hair and he startled, turning to Rand. He was awfully close and the tips of his ears were pink. Mat could see himself reflected in Rand’s eyes; squinting unabashedly into them, he took note of the scarlet flower tucked behind his ear, and wrinkled his nose. 

“What’d you do that for?” 

Rand shrugged. “Suits you.” 

“Oh, really?” Mat grinned. “What is it?”

“It’s a starblaze. They’re rare, here, I think. They prefer warmer weather.”

“What does it mean?” 

“Oh… well… I…” 

“Rand!” Whatever Rand had been about to say was cut off and Perrin stumbled into the clearing. “Mat! Sorry I’m late. I was in the workshop, and—” 

“We know,” Mat laughed. “I tell you, Perrin, you should marry your hammers, because any wife you have will surely think you’re having an affair with them anyway, the amount of time you spend in there.” 

“Shut up, Mat,” Perrin grumbled, and Rand laughed, and that was that. 

They passed the day picking out increasingly dangerous paths across the stones rising out of the forest creek, and, even as his clothes grew soaked, Mat managed to keep his flower dry. He was still wearing it when he returned home that evening. 

His mother gave him an odd look. “Pretty flower. Did a girl give that to you?” 

Mat touched the starblaze and smiled. “No, just Rand.” 

Her eyebrows went up. She exchanged an amused look with his father. 

“What?” Mat demanded. “What’s that about?” 

But his parents only laughed. 

“Ask again in a few years,” his father said, ruffling his hair, careful not to dislodge the bloom. “Maybe, by then, you’ll already know.” 

-

The memory fades. Mat shakes it off; he doesn’t have time for foolish reminiscences, now when he’s currently trespassing in the Queen of Andor’s house. He marches down the corridor, finds a guard willing to accept his story. When Tallanvor tells him, face stern, to get rid of his flower, Mat does so—he stuffs it into his coat pocket, and resolves to put it from his mind. And he does. 

He does, until approximately fifteen hours later, as he sits on a boat bound for Tear and realizes that, no matter how much he tells himself to focus on the girls, he cannot put the Light-damned flower from his mind. Digging into his coat pocket, he draws out the bloom. It’s a little torn, now, a little crumpled at the edges, a little wilted after a day in his pocket—but no less beautiful for all that. 

Thom, sitting beside him, look curiously at it. “Did you steal that from Morgase?” 

Mat answers with a question of his own. “Thom, do you know what this flower means?” 

Thom looks at him through the corner of his eyes, eyebrows raised like snowy mountains. “Red starblaze? I haven’t been in the practice of courting with flowers for a good decade, lad, but if memory serves… I’d say it’s a promise.” 

“A promise? A promise of what?” 

Thom shrugs. “What else, lad? Love.”

“Oh,” Mat whispers. 

Thom is studying him, his expression somewhere between a frown and a smile. “Why do you ask?” 

Mat shoves the flower back into his coat. “Never you mind,” he mutters, and Thom sighs. No more is said on the matter. In the distance, Tear looms. 

-

The day passes in a blur. Mat discovers the rules of his luck, then he blows up the Stone of Tear, receiving no thanks from Nynaeve, Egwene, and Elayne, although, really, what else had he expected from them, and then, to top it all off, he wanders outside to see Rand striding down the road, Callandor in hand, followed by a mass of Westlanders and Aiel, all weeping and screaming about the Dragon. 

It’s all overwhelming, and Mat prays for it to end, until it does, and suddenly he wants nothing more than to be caught up in the action again, if it will grant him only a moment’s reprieve from all the thoughts swirling around in his head. No respite comes, however, and, as the sun sets, he finds himself standing outside Rand’s room—because the blasted man has a personal room in the Stone of Tear, now. A room guarded by a cloud of Far Dareis Mai, no less, all of whom give Mat narrow-eyed looks as he stands, fidgeting, outside the door. He feels a vague sense of resentment under their suspicious gazes: he’s known Rand longer than anyone else here, burn them. 

As soon as the thought comes, a darker, more chilling one replaces it: does he know Rand? The man on the other side of the door is Rand, yes, but, at the same time, he is not Rand. He is not the Rand of Mat’s childhood, of his memories, of his adolescent dreams. The man on the other side of the door is Rand al’Thor, and he is the Dragon Reborn, and Mat does not know which of the two he is more afraid to face. 

Part of him wants to leave. He shouldn’t be here; Moiraine, of all people, had insisted that they all give him space, while he takes in his new role. Callandor’s blue glow seeps out from under the door, a reminder of all that this new role entails. Mat shivers. Yet he knows, for him, leaving is not, can never truly be, an option. 

His hand dips into his coat. Somehow, the flower has survived the day’s activities with only a few torn petals. Some unknown instinct compels him to tuck the scarlet bloom behind his ear. The Maidens watch him, faces inscrutable. Mat pushes them from his mind. There is only one person who matters, now. 

_ Light, the bloody Dragon Reborn. _

He opens the door.

**Author's Note:**

> That's three whole books down! Yeet! 
> 
> I'm super excited to start book 4 because I absolutely LOVE books 4 and 5. I love reading about the Aiel - I love them, I love their culture, I love Rand's cloud of over-protective Maidens, I love Rhuidean, I love all the quality Mat/Rand content in these books—
> 
> I'm so excited to find out which scenes I'm going to expand on for my next two drabbles. But, for now, I hope you enjoyed this one! TDR isn't my favorite WoT book, but it is the first one with Mat POV chapters and I will always love it for that. 
> 
> If you liked this drabble, hey, maybe drop me a comment - or come talk to me @insomnia-productions on Tumblr!


End file.
